


The sound of silence

by Ibbyliv



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Onesies, Pre-Slash, Sick babies who have lost their voices, Sickfic, and are absolutely insufferable, kiss, pantomime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-25
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-27 14:53:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ibbyliv/pseuds/Ibbyliv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joly threw his hands in the air exasperatedly. “This must be a joke! An extremely distasteful one, if you want my opinion…” he muttered to himself. “It is impossible!” he now left a high-pitched shriek. “The one and only time you two decided to agree on something was to both lose your voices? At the <em>same time?</em>”<br/>*<br/>Epically pissed off with each other, they turned their heads in different directions again, until Enjolras grabbed the notepad and scribbled: <em>Maybe the only good thing with us not having a voice and being stuck in this soddin' couch is that I could strangle you with a pillow and no one would be able to notice!</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	The sound of silence

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what got me and I wrote such a stupid thing but here you are... Stubborn babies that can't speak for a day!

Joly threw his hands in the air exasperatedly. “This must be a joke! An extremely distasteful one, if you want my opinion…” he muttered to himself. “It is impossible!” he now left a high-pitched shriek. “The only time you two decided to agree on something was to both lose your voices? _At the same time_?”

Enjolras and Grantaire were both on Combeferre’s couch, wrapped in a huge blanket, staring at him blankly. There were dark circles under their eyes and their wild curls were ruffled from sleep. The blonde shrugged his shoulders apologetically and sat up against the pillows, looking rather grumpy for the fact that he was being scolded for something he could not help _and_ was terribly inconvenient at the same time, while Grantaire rested his head against the arm of the couch and hugged his pillow as if his life depended on it, nuzzling and muffling his gut-wretching cough.

Combeferre patted his friend on the shoulder reassuringly. “There, there, Joly,” he tried to hide a teasing smirk, while walking to Grantaire’s side of the couch and gently trying to pull him away from the pillow in order to press a palm against his forehead. “We should consider ourselves lucky for being spared from their fighting for once! Here comes a day of bliss when we won’t hear their charming voices snapping at each other!” The two couch-ridden men started protesting, producing a mayhem of huffs, grunts, and tossing under the sheets. Enjolras shot his best friend a murderous look but Combeferre had already turned his eyes to Grantaire, who had shifted on his back and was now lying properly against the pillows, allowing the medical student to feel his forehead. “At least you don’t have a fever,” smiled the bespectacled man, before turning to Enjolras. “You, however…” He knew very well when his friend was coming down with something, before Enjolras even noticed himself. Now the blond man was flushed violently, his eyes drowsy and red-rimmed, and Combeferre had already diagnosed him before even pressing his palm against his clammy, burning forehead. He shoved a thermometer under Enjolras’ tongue and felt the glands on his throat, receiving a grumpy roll of his friend’s eyes, who had now crossed his arms stubbornly in front of his chest. At the same time, Joly had rushed near Grantaire who looked as if he would cough his lungs out any minute now, and was supporting his weight, rubbing soothing circles on his back until he was done. “It's such an unbelievable coincidence for you to get sick at the same time,” he muttered concernedly at the wrecking sound of Grantaire’s coughing. “At least now we can have you both in one place and take care of you more easily.”

Enjolras snorted and shot an angry look to Grantaire as if he blamed him for their dreadful fate of being ill _and_ stuck together at the same couch when in general they could hardly bear each other’s presence. Grantaire sighed with difficulty, as his throat seemed to be on fire, and turned the other way, positively pissed off by Enjolras’ behavior. They stayed like this, under the covers with their backs turned to each other, arms crossed in front of their chests and Combeferre tried hard not to burst into laughter. “You both are such babies! Courfeyrac would love a picture of this…”

Before he was able to take his phone out of his pocket, both Enjolras and Grantaire had thrown themselves out of the duvet and attacked Combeferre who immediately backed off. “Christ, alright, no pictures, no Courfeyrac, I promise!”

They slowly drifted back underneath the duvet, staring at Combeferre venomously, their backs still turned against each other.

“Won’t you two ever behave?” moaned Joly, throwing his eyes on the ceiling. “These illnesses can be proven to be very nasty, you know and all you’re doing right now is acting like stubborn, spoilt children! What if you both have pneumonia, huh?” He pinned Grantaire back on the pillows, looking concerned. “Open your mouth!” he demanded, producing a small light out of the pocket of his shirt. Grantaire sheepishly obliged and allowed Joly to inspect his throat. “This isn’t a throat,” cried Joly. “This is a battlefield! Waterloo, to say the least!”

A hint of worry softened Enjolras’ angry glance but was soon replaced by his stubborn frown, as Combeferre gently stroked his warm cheek. “Do the same and open your mouth for me,” he said sweetly, as if he was speaking to a child. Enjolras sighed painfully and rubbed his temple with his fingertips, ceasing to obey. “Come on, be good like Grantaire, who is not giving Joly any trouble!” Enjolras kicked Grantaire’s sheen under the sheets, causing the other man to jump up and leave a strangled cry of pain, before he finally opened his mouth. “Behave, kids,” threatened Combeferre seriously, “because I’ll ground you both… or even worse, relocate you to the bed!” Grantaire silently laughed at Enjolras, who had his mouth opened and a pen light pointed at him.

Combeferre turned to Joly with a sigh. “Same here. It’s really admirable how they managed to get themselves like that on the same time!” he reached for two pills of paracetamol, and handed them to Enjolras with a glass of water. “Bottoms up!”

Grantaire’s body was shaken by another coughing fit. “I should listen to your breathing,” muttered Joly worriedly. “It probably isn’t pneumonia, but it’s always better to be on the safe side...”

It was Grantaire’s turn to fuss and sigh in exasperation, waving his hands in the air. Combeferre came to his aid, placing a comforting hand on Joly’s arm. “It’s just the flu, Joly. They’ve caught it from each other. We should probably let them rest and they’ll be healthy, shouting their lungs out in no time!” he turned to look at their grumpy faces. “Or maybe not!” he said with an amused smile.

“What do you mean? Leave them alone?” Joly bit his lip hesitantly. “They’re hardly capable of taking care of themselves!”

Both Enjolras and Grantaire were now waving their hands in unison, huffing and shaking their heads.

 _We will call you if you need anything,_ gestured Grantaire rather comically.

“They’ll be fine, Joly, they’re not alone, they’re together. They can help each other this way,” said Combeferre. “We have classes to attend, besides, Éponine, Bahorel and Feuilly will drop by later anyway. They will call us if it’s necessary!”

Enjolras sighed in relief though Joly looked even more worried to the thought that the two men of their group who found pleasure in nothing but fighting with each other would stay in an apartment together, fearing that they would strangle each other in their sleep.

“There’s paracetamol on the coffee table and hot tea in the kettle. You both need rest!” Combeferre continued seriously, turning to the sick men.

“Enjolras, make sure he doesn’t find any drinks.”

“And Grantaire, don’t let him up, keep him away from any essay, speech or articles, tie him on the couch down if needed!”

“And don’t you dare wear your voices! Arguing is absolutely restricted!” Joly pointed his index finger to them. “This goes for both of you!”

Grantaire raised his hands in defense and Enjolras shot his friends another hurt and deceived look, as they gathered their things and walked to the door.

When Enjolras heard the door shutting behind them, he threw the duvet off his body and placed his feet on the floor, clumsily trying to stand up despite his aching head.

He was walking barefoot on the floor, searching for his sneakers underneath the coffee table. Grantaire patted the arm of the couch to draw his attention, and succeeded. Enjolras turned to stare at him, looking mildly annoyed. _What_? He gestured.

Grantaire moved his lips. _Where do you think you’re going?_

Enjolras pointed at the door. _I have things to do. I’m not staying here._ He would have never imagined that he’d ever be obliged to get stuck in a room – _hell, in the same couch, even!-_ with the man whose only pleasure was to mock his actions and beliefs.

The corners of Grantaire’s lips upturned into a mischievous smile as he pointed the phone with a glance that indicated: _Try to walk out of here and I’m calling Combeferre. Or Bahorel, to sit on you._

Enjolras stood in the middle of the room for a while, looking rather confused, and finally he climbed on the couch and underneath the duvet, growling. _I hate you!_ He mouthed.

Grantaire raised his shoulders as if he was saying _No surprises there._

The blond man grabbed a notepad which was left on the coffee table, as well as a pen, and scribbled furiously on a clean page: _You are downright oppressive!_

The other took the notepad from Enjolras’ hands, coughing roughly in his elbow before replying underneath with his messy, childish writing: _You are feverish. It’s rather sweet…_

At that point, Enjolras looked about to erupt, flushed violently, both from the fever and his fury. _Shut up already!_

_Didn’t say anything, Apollo._

They managed to remain calm and silent for a while, both staring at different directions. Enjolras, who had been used to being significantly active, was starting to get even more restless. Grantaire, obviously bored himself, began making sounds with his lips and mouth. Enjolras took a deep breath at first, trying not to react, but soon elbowed him on the ribs, looking positively terrifying. He brought a hand on his throat, moving his lips. _Stop it now! My throat hurts so much to bear this!_

Grantaire raised an eyebrow sarcastically and scribbled quickly on the notepad: _Really? I can’t even_ imagine _how awful you must be feeling!_

Enjolras sighed and tilted his head back, resting it against the couch, shutting his eyes for a while. He considered getting some sleep, possibly taking his fever down so that he would be able to return to his duties soon. However, Grantaire soon poked him on the shoulder, showing him the notepad.

_It’s a nice change to not hear you shouting speeches and rants out of your lungs. We ought to get you purposefully sick every once in a while._

Enjolras grabs the notepad in his hands. _You probably are not aware of the harm done now that I’m losing a day of important work!_

Grantaire smirks sarcastically. _You have to overthrow the government, don’t you?_

_Just because you don’t believe in anything I do does not mean that it isn’t important!_

_Right,_ you _are important, the world needs you._

“It does, and instead I’m stuck here with YOU!” that was actually verbalized in a low, raspy voice which sounded as if Enjolras was being strangled, and left him with a murderously scratching throat.

Grantaire shook his index finger disapprovingly, making a sound with his tongue. _No talking for you today._

They both remained silent for a while, turning on the TV and watching absent-mindedly something neither of them liked, the silence interrupted by their tossing under the sheets and Grantaire’s occasional dry coughing which caused Enjolras to flinch worriedly.

Suddenly Grantaire nudged Enjolras’ sides, causing him to jump up in surprise. He showed him the notepad. _I’m bored. We’re already stuck together, so let’s at least play pantomime._

Enjolras threw his eyes on the ceiling desperately. _Don’t be ridiculous._

_We have nothing better to do._

Finally Enjolras bit his lower lip, agreeing half-heartedly, cursing his luck for not even being granted the right to be sick and miserable on his own.

Grantaire started, doing an excellent imitation of Bossuet, stumbling on the coffee table and ending with his nose shoved in the hole of the tissue box. Enjolras then did a surprisingly accurate impression of a drunk Courfeyrac, making Grantaire choke on his tea, and they proceeded in an angry Bahorel, a puzzled Kirsten Stewart, Coyote and Beep Beep, Joly’s cat and Bellatrix Lestrange.

Grantaire was now wearing a grumpy face, ranting gloriously about what seemed to be either social inequality or discovering Cheerios instead of chocolate cereal in the kitchen cupboard. Enjolras pointed to himself disbelievingly.

_This isn’t me!_

_Is so._

Enjolras frowned, crossing his arms in front of his chest, his silk red pajamas making a sleek sound. _I’m not that bad,_ he mouthed half-heartedly.

Grantaire nudged him playfully on the ribs. Joly had driven him in Combeferre’s apartment when they realized that Enjolras had a fever, which was before the blond had woken up, therefore he hadn’t really noticed what Grantaire was wearing underneath the duvet. When he threw the covers off him and stood up, Enjolras choked on his coffee and Grantaire had to alarmingly hit them on the back to calm down. _What happened?_

Enjolras pointed at Grantaire’s green onesie and Grantaire smiled proudly. _It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?_

_You’re odd, you know that?_

_You’re rude. I was about to make you something to eat._

_Not hungry._

_You’ll eat either way._

_What will you make?_ Mouthed Enjolras.

_Something perfectly healthy for two sick men. Oat snacks or carrot soup something._

Enjolras stood up and opened his mouth to protest, looking absolutely furious, but Grantaire just pressed his palm against his mouth, shutting him up. _Easy, tiger,_ he chuckled. _I’m making waffles._

Enjolras calmed against the other man’s grip and fell on the couch again, his head spinning slightly from the fever. Grantaire disappeared in the kitchen and Enjolras could hear his harsh coughing until he returned with warm waffles and nutella on a plate. Enjolras had never seemed more thankful towards the cynical man, and Grantaire smiled proudly while they ate.

 _Thank you,_ mouthed the blonde when they were finished.

Grantaire grabbed the notepad. _You know that it’s probably your fault that we’re both here with no voice._

Enjolras shot him an incredulous look. _How dare you! Do you think I did it on purpose?_

Grantaire sighed wearily. _It’s obvious that you were the one who caught the bug. You hardly ever take care of yourself._

Enjolras grabbed the notepad with such fury, that he almost ripped some sheets. _It’s not my fault that your own immune system is ridiculously insufficient!_

Epically pissed off with each other, they turned their heads in different directions again, until Enjolras grabbed the notepad and wrote: _Maybe the only good thing with us not having a voice is that I could strangle you and no one would notice!_

Grantaire snorted and coughed softly. _You wouldn’t, that would violate human rights._ He coughed again.

 _Your constant_ coughing _violates_ my _rights._

 _Well, excuse me,_ mouthed Grantaire angrily, _I didn’t want to annoy you with the inferiority of my being, but I didn’t chose to cough like a hundred year old smoker!_

There was silence for a while, as Enjolras didn’t stir under the covers. _You don’t annoy me, I’m just worried, alright?_

Grantaire stared at the notepad disbelievingly with wide open blue eyes, then raised them to face Enjolras and move his lips. _That’s sweet._

He received a pillow on his head and, trying to hide his laughter, he responded accordingly. Soon, they were fighting mercilessly with the pillows and even Enjolras laughed, which _did_ make his throat hurt terribly, but eventually they had to stop as Grantaire started coughing violently, his throat being torn in two and his whole body shaking. Without being able to hold himself back, Enjolras threw his arms around the other man and supported him, rubbing soothing circles on his back, until he was able to stop and catch his breath. Enjolras was looking positively worried as he slowly helped Grantaire lie back and rest his head on his lap, placing a soothing hand on his chest. The man continued to cough while Enjolras wrote on the notepad. _You should have let Joly listen to your chest, you stubborn idiot! What if this is serious?_

Grantaire looked positively touched from Enjolras’ unexpected concern, but was too exhausted to do anything but smile blissfully. _I’m fine, Apollo. Don’t worry._ He raised a hand and pressed it on Enjolras’ forehead, brushing his blond locks away. _You however…_ He flinched at his temperature and sat up, reaching for the thermometer and handing it to him.

While waiting for the thermometer to beep, Grantaire zapped on the TV, finally finding a decent movie they both preferred from crappy reality shows. Grimacing at the sign of the thermometer, he handed him a glass of water and a pill. Enjolras shivered.

 _Are you cold?_ Mouthed Grantaire quickly.

The man nodded, slightly flushed and before he could do anything about it, Grantaire had thrown his arms around him and curled together against his body, pulling the covers up to their necks. The warmth radiating from the man’s body was a pleasant change, and somewhere between his feverish state, Enjolras leaned closer in the embrace and rested his head on Grantaire’s shoulder, leaving a small trembling sigh of contentment. Grantaire could not hide a smile, realizing as well that the hot beverages they had consumed had somehow soothed his throat. “On second thoughts,” he whispered hoarsely, so that only Enjolras could hear him, “I think I’m already missing your voice.”

Enjolras raised his head and stared at him, realizing that their faces were so close that he could literally feel the other’s warm breath brushing against his skin. “There are better things to do with my mouth than talking,” he whispered.

Grantaire’s heart started thumping quickly against his ribs, at the sight of the man’s glowing eyes and the feeling of warmth they shared as their bodies were pressed together. “Do you have anything in mind?” he breathed.

He could only manage to shut his eyes before Enjolras’ lips were brushing softly against his own, and Grantaire’s breath hitched on his throat, making Enjolras fear for another coughing fit which never came, instead he responded to the kiss, pressing his lips fiercely against the other man’s, moving them softly and tracing his tongue over them.

 _At least we can’t get each other sick,_ was the sole, odd thought that crossed Enjolras’ mind, before he smiled into the kiss, sliding his fingers through Grantaire’s wild curls.


End file.
